


Standards Must Be Maintained

by herebewyverns



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Baking, Biscuit Tins Are Not Good Hiding Places, Cake, Furniture Has Feelings, Gen, Good Omens Celebration 2020, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Post-Episode: Good Omens: Lockdown, The Bookshop (Good Omens) - Freeform, The Bookshop Has Opinions, but then again that's the point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:02:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23982025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herebewyverns/pseuds/herebewyverns
Summary: It's hard letting go of the habits and fears of a lifetime, but thankfully wily serpents can wiggle between the lines...
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 115
Collections: Good Omens Celebration





	Standards Must Be Maintained

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Должны же быть какие-то стандарты!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25309843) by [fandom Tennant and Sheen 2020 (fandom_Tennant_Sheen_2020)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_Tennant_Sheen_2020/pseuds/fandom%20Tennant%20and%20Sheen%202020), [Fannni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fannni/pseuds/Fannni)



> Thank you, Neil Gaiman for putting together the adorable Lockdown episode and thereby kick-starting my thoroughly stalled writing mojo! And thank you, Hawkwind, to whom I sent a random snippet and who poked me into finishing it and putting it up!
> 
> If you haven't seen the episode, do check it out, as I'm not sure this will amke any sense without it: _https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=quSXoj8Kob0_

The little carriage clock on his side table chimed a cheerful 3am, and Aziraphale sighed, putting his book aside. He’d been feeling restless all afternoon and throughout much of the evening, ever since he’d talked to Crowley. His friend was ever the wily serpent, for as soon as he’d suggested that he might come over to the Bookshop, Aziraphale had been able to think of nothing else.

Imagine, a little voice had whispered to the angel, _Crowley_. At the _Bookshop_. For an unknown, unknowable, possibly _infinite_ amount of time!

He looked over at the empty old sofa, looking somehow too big and too small all at once, bereft as it was of a lanky demonic entity sprawling all over it as he waved a wine glass around. The sofa, of course, said nothing, but it seemed to convey a deep sense of disgruntlement that all of its comfortable hospitality was going to waste here. As if it knew perfectly well that it might have had a function in accommodating Crowley’s sleek corporation and making it feel welcomed and at home, and now, thanks to Aziraphale’s stubbornness and habitual reticence, it was left to stand about like a spare part. _[1]_

_[1] Humans might go about saying of their preferred seating “That’s my spot”, but of course they are largely mistaken if they believe that they are the ones to make that decision. In reality, it is the furniture who makes the decision to accept or not a person’s particular posterior, and becomes especially comfortable or not in an effort to accommodate them more often. The sofa in the back room of the Bookshop would never have so much as countenanced someone like, say, Gabriel parking his great behind upon it in anything but the utmost springs-in-all-the-wrong-places, creaking and groaning, threaten-to-tip-you-onto-the-floor-at-a-second’s-notice discomfortable protest. [1.1] There are Standards at play here, after all!_

_[1.1] Fortunately for all concerned, Gabriel’s snobbishness wouldn’t permit him to stoop to attempting to make use of *sniff* earthy furnishings._

The coffee table appeared to have a similar opinion, if the manner in which the coasters were shifting around irritably was anything to go by.

It was a wonderful, _tempting_ idea. And Aziraphale, possibly better than anybody, knew what happened when one gave in to temptingly wonderful ideas… especially when they were dangled in from of one by the Serpent of Eden…

Oh… But to have Crowley all to himself…

Of course, that was another problem right there. Aziraphale and Crowley had never really spent a great deal of time together in such close quarters, not in over 6000 years. Bare hours at a time, perhaps most of a day, but then the restraint would close, or the sun would go down (or come up) and Crowley would take himself off to his own Mayfair flat and Aziraphale would settle down and get cosy in his Bookshop again, and… Well.

Suppose they became bored with each other? Just the two of them and nowhere to go… Perhaps Crowley would decide they had nothing in common, or simply become fed up with his stuffy old angel friend?

Oh, they were _best_ friends, of course they were, and had even before they had reached that point spent more time in each other’s company than either Head Office would have liked if they’d known about it.

They’d had lunches and dinners together, spent positively lovely afternoons strolling around St James’ Park, feeding ducks… They’d been to the opera and the theatre together, and to the cinema too, when that had become fashionable, although Aziraphale wasn’t at all sure he liked the pictures so much. Crowley, of course, _adored_ cinemas, so Aziraphale went along with him whenever he was asked… _[2]_

_[2] In the last few decades, almost as if by Divine Planning, there had been a great fashion for symphony orchestras and such to undertake whole concerts dedicated to playing popular or stony music, [2.1] and then it became a cheerful scramble between Heavenly keenness and Hellish determination to acquire tickets to nobly proffer to the other with elegant speeches about compromise and middle grounds and such. Had either side held anything like an active imagination, the whole Apocalypse could have been diverted into some strange form of Olympic Games, and have done with it._

_[2.1] “ Rock Music, angel! It’s Rock Music!” One of these days, Crowley was going to realise that Aziraphale got these things wrong on purpose – sometimes, anyway – and then Aziraphale was going to need to find a new hobby._

They had even worked together in the same house for years on end, although the gardener’s cottage had been at the other end of the grounds than the big house where Nanny had supposedly slept. Or quite possibly, she had actually slept? Crowley did love his sleeping after all…

And now that’s what the demon was probably doing, and would be for some time… because Aziraphale had turned him down! Again!

Aziraphale wasn’t at all sure he’d done the right thing, after all.

The little clock ticked away in the silence, and the angel sighed, and watched the shadows idly. He wasn’t looking for anything, of course, but the dark spaces in the shop, highlighted still further by the warm glow of his side lamps seemed to be an oddly fitting metaphor for his strange existence on Earth. Little patches of wonder and warmth and light, but also big stretches of cold and emptiness too.

Crowley wasn’t cold though, nor empty. Crowley could never be anything except warming and wonderful…

And…

And Aziraphale _missed_ him! He missed him so, so _much_!

The angel sighed and shook himself. This kind of thinking was getting him nowhere, save to make him feel worse.

He got up from his armchair briskly and headed towards the kitchen. There was still some Battenburg cake, if he wasn’t very much mistaken _[3]_ , and a snack would be just the ticket to settle himself down again.

_[3] And Aziraphale was never mistaken about the contents of his biscuit tin! Vested interest and all that._

Aziraphale reached for the tin on the shelf, but paused as he began to lower it to the countertop… Surely he hadn’t left the lid half-off like that when he put it away last? Aziraphale was normally very careful about such things as keeping his cakes moist and his biscuits crisp. No point in putting all that effort into baking if you allowed things to spoil within a day or two!

And yet…

And yet, there was the lid of the biscuit tin, quite unmistakably ajar, if you will excuse the rather obvious pun…

Aziraphale placed the tin on the counter with extreme caution and assessed his options. It was unlikely that Heaven or Hell would have the imagination or the intelligence to – what was the term these days? – _spike_ his cake supply, but although Aziraphale was certainly pretty good at making enemies among humans, they tended not to last very long, in his experience… _[4]_

_[4] Even Shadwell – clumsy destroyer of Bookshops and thus_ persona non grata _within the large majority of Soho, should he ever take it into his head to venture there ever again - only had another twenty or thirty years left in him, and neither Aziraphale nor Crowley – who took the entire Incident regarding certain discorporations and traumatic conflagrations deeply personally and held grudges for centuries at a time - need do anything to him. Aziraphale had had this conversation several times now. Crowley still wasn’t completely convinced and neither was the Bookshop itself. _

Resisting the urge to call down any of that Holy Wrath that Crowley liked to poke fun at him about, Aziraphale – with very _great_ caution – reached out one hand and slowly lifted the lid…

Oh.

_Oh, Crowley…_

Tucked up around the pretty pink and cream chequered cake, there lay a very small snake. As Aziraphale peered in at him, the snake looked up and lifted up a pair of frankly enormous golden eyes in a pathetically beseeching sort of way, sticking out a tongue to flicker at the angel and raising his head a little like a dog begging for illicit food from gullible family members… _[5]_

_[5] Snakes might not have been the most famous users of ‘puppy dog eyes’ but they are, in many ways, the most well suited for it. Perhaps that was just Crowley’s many years of practice, though?_

Aziraphale blinked back at him for a second, and then a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He wrestled it down, quickly. Some little rituals still needed to be seen through, after all. Crowley couldn’t be allowed to think he could just waltz on into the Bookshop as he pleased, after all. It was a very wily trick, and Aziraphale had Standards to maintain!

“Oh dear,” he intoned, voice as solemn and sincere as he could possibly make it, “for lo! It would appear that the Great Serpent, Tempter and Beguiler of Eden hath stolen within, beyond my walls and taken up residence in mine home.”

The tiny snake tilted its head to one side and looked a little worried, but Aziraphale _[6]_ didn’t allow his expression or his tone to soften even a little as he continued;

“And now, see how he hath found the greatest of treasures in mine home and encircled them! For cunning is the Serpent, and clever are his ploys!”

_[6] Who was, after all, just enough of a bastard…_

And then, just as Crowley began to look _really_ worried, Aziraphale reached in with careful, warm hands and scooped him up, booping him gently on the snout before gently brushing cake crumbs off the silly serpent. _[7]_ Aziraphale shook his head and finished his little performance in the same lofty and earnest tones;

“For the safety of the innocents around me, I must do my very utmost to keep the Serpent within mine place of safety, that none shall be led astray by his wiles and that his evil deeds many be thwarted!”

_[7] The logistics of turning from one form to another were not a very exact science, but in Crowley’s case anything he’d collected up along his scales as a snake – sand, grit, glitter (don’t ask), bits of leaves - had a bad tendency to hang around post-transformation in a most annoying way. They’d stick beneath Crowley’s clothes, if he shifted into his human-shape before they were removed, and the demon would gripe and fuss about them all night._

The snake froze for a brief moment before curling around and around Aziraphale’s wrist in a most un-reptilian display of boundless energy, before slithering down onto the kitchen floor and rising back up just as quickly as the familiar lanky form of Aziraphale’s demon.

“You great feathered prat!” Crowley looked like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh along with Aziraphale’s chuckles or throw the now-vacated biscuit tin at the angel’s head.

“Oh, hello there, Crowley!” Aziraphale beamed at him, feigning great surprise that the tiny snake he’d been rubbing the snout of had been his dear friend all along. “What a wonderful surprise! And after I had specifically said that you oughtn’t to come too! Just this afternoon, wasn’t it?”

Crowley’s lips curled up into a deeply self-satisfied smirk as he lounged back elegantly against the countertop, dipping his sunglasses down his nose to peer over them, and looked frightfully coy.

“Oh, I know, angel, but demonic standards must be maintained, you know… Can’t go letting the side down by respecting invitations, or the lack thereof. As you so unwisely reminded me, I’m getting behind on my wiling and such; got to keep my hand in.”

“By stealing your way into my shop, to say nothing of my biscuit tin?” Aziraphale tutted, reaching up absentmindedly to brush some crumbs he’d managed to miss from the demon’s ginger locks.

Crowley’s smile was _blinding_. Aziraphale almost couldn’t believe that he’d ever thought he wanted to spend weeks and weeks more without seeing that smile _all the time._

Thank _goodness_ , Crowley was so much cleverer than he.

“Oh… As you said, angel, greatest treasures held within and all that. Knew you’d reach for it sooner rather than later.”

“Hmmm…” Aziraphale hummed as he finally pulled back a little to put the lid back firmly in its proper place atop the tin, and placing the tin back on the shelf too. He didn’t need settling with cake now, after all, he had _Crowley_. Right here! In the Bookshop!

Crowley straightened up then, and began heading towards the back room, towards his long-claimed and well-trained spot on the sofa _[8]_ and Aziraphale’s wine-stash.

_[8] There was a distinct sighing noise from the well-stuffed seat, which might have been mistaken for springs or some such thing, but which we all know was instead the deep and abiding relief of a couch who will not be forced to put up with idleness for months on end after all. [8.1] Thank heavens, it thought to itself, that someone has some sense around here! The armchair tutted back at it, loyally. But not very hard, after all, it hadn’t relished the enforced quiet and loneliness either._

_[8.1] It had been worried. It, too, had become comfortably well-used to being occupied more often than not, and it preferred not to return to decades of disuse due to quarrels and snits. The demon-visitor might have a terrible habit of putting his feet up in places they had no business being on a respectable sofa, but he was otherwise and delightfully well-trained guest and the sofa was happy to have him back where he belonged._

“Now that I’m here, angel, I don’t suppose you fancy a night-cap, do you?”

Well, _really!_ Crowley was most appallingly smug and self-assured for a wily serpent who had stolen into Aziraphale’s abode like a thief in the night! Honestly!

“Oh good heavens, no,” Aziraphale called, reaching out to switch the kettle on. “At –“ he checked the clock on the kitchen wall “- four in the morning?! No, no, my dear, it’s entirely the wrong time to begin drinking. No, I’m afraid wicked tempters who invade innocent angels’ bookshops at ungodly hours of the night must settle for cocoa!”

Crowley’s sunglasses were still clinging precariously to the very tip of his nose, somehow. Presumably via some form of demonic stylistic magic. As such they did absolutely nothing to disguise the way he rolled his eyes at Aziraphale’s antics, but then again, neither did they disguise Crowley’s warm, fond smile.

“Oh, how positively dreadful, angel! Please, show a poor sinner a little mercy, do!”

Aziraphale ruffled Crowley’s locks a little as he passed by before settling back into his armchair and doubtless beaming all over his face. “I’m terribly sorry, my dear, but it’s the Bookshop’s Rules, after all. You’ll just have to stay here until proper drinking hours commence.”

Crowley huffed and began to threaten to spend the whole of such time as a snake, and then the angel would be sorry, wouldn’t he? Who would he have to talk to then?

But Aziraphale only smiled and teased right back and let the warmth and light of his dear friend’s presence seep into his bones and chase away any lonely darkness it could find.

It was simply _wonderful_ to have Crowley here in the Bookshop. Aziraphale was a foolish, silly angel to ever think it might be otherwise. No matter how long things went on for, or what happened, Aziraphale could face anything so long as he had Crowley right here with him…

That didn’t mean that Crowley could be allowed to have everything his own way, of course. Aziraphale could _see_ the wily serpent starting to nudge the wine glasses towards them when he thought that Aziraphale wasn’t looking.

Honestly!

**Author's Note:**

> *Hides under the table* Hi, everyone! Um... It's been a while, but I swear I'm back now! All those fics you were worried I'd heartlessly abandoned? I promise I haven't! 
> 
> If you're new here and you liked this, check out my blog for random thoughts on writing, fantasy, dragons and folklore. Also there's a tiny dragon as a guest-star, so that can't be bad!  
> I can be found at: <https://herebeblog.wordpress.com/>

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Slither on Over](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24181822) by [amythestice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amythestice/pseuds/amythestice)
  * [Slither on Over v2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24748204) by [amythestice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amythestice/pseuds/amythestice)




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